Faster Than Flying
by Abby Ebon
Summary: Slash; HarryxDom, FFxHP. Harry started traveling after the war, he never settled down, never married, never kept in contact with friends or family. Only now, Sirius’ bike needs repairs, he didn’t know the damned trouble it would cause to get it fixed…
1. Gritty With Glitches

**Faster Than Flying**

_Abby Ebon_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Beta(s):

_wolf-shinigami_, (as of 10/19/09) who fixed up some of my editing.

_vairetwilight_, (as of 11/1/09) who was a great help getting everything sorted just right.

_Summary: _ Slash; HarryxDom, FFxHP. Harry started traveling after the war, he never settled down, never married, never kept in contact with friends or family. It seemed fine that way, but Sirius' bike needs repairs, and he didn't know the damned trouble it would cause to get it fixed…

_Note_: I love the feeling of starting something new – for me it's as addicting as finishing a story up or mulling over other ideas. Unfortunately it seems that for the time being I'm only good for coming up with the new stuff. I've tried everything I can think of to defer to a different wavelength, this, I'm ill content to report, seems one of those times my mind drifts without musing on my poor fingers. I really have no idea why this occasionally happens – life altering events? Stress or the lack of global warming (I loath winter, as pretty as it is, I've a dreaded fear of falling since my accident last Christmas season) all the same this annoys me to no end. As I'm never sure of where a story is going until it is written out, and now I have to wait and wonder right along with everyone else.

Ah, well, at least I am writing _ something_, right? Don't get picky then.

I've recently (_finally_) watched _The Fast and the Furious_ (about damn time too, right?) and I couldn't help remembering all too fondly _Serpent in the Shadows_ obsessing over the idea of it being crossed with _ Harry Potter_. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? In my dark snickering fan girl heart I adore Vin Diesel in a worshipful way that has not been matched since the days before _Pitch Black_. I'd love to write a _Brian _and_ Dominic_ story some time, but as I'm keenly missing one of my best friends (my _muse_, my muse… –_sob_-!), I figure I'd give her something to read when she checks her email; surprise, surprise, aye?

So this unlikely pairing (and ever more so crossover) is dedicated to _Serpent in the Shadows_, may she snicker with delighted giddiness - or something….

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Gritty With Glitches_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry liked it fast. At first, it'd only ever been about running, getting a little thrill that he sometimes thought was only fear when he was chased. He'd almost gotten into track as a sport, but his ill taken reputation and unproven status as a runner had dashed those early hopes. Instead he'd had to settle for running from Dudley and his gang, only it was almost too easy to dash out of their way.

He'd learned then not to go _too_ fast, not to be "unnaturally good" even at what he liked. For running away from Dudley as he had, had gotten him a lashing almost as bad as the time he'd tried to discredit claims of his reputation as a bad egg.

He'd learned that lesson well, and hadn't run too fast or too well, until the day he was almost caught – it was the sort of rush that welled up in him, of a furious joy and tainted chill – that reminded him of that day. The day he landed on the roof. The day he picked up his wand – the _right_ wand – with the rush of sparks, and the giddy, delighted and yet still ill settled feeling that lingered in his stomach like heavy metal.

It was that rush he'd chased after ever since.

When he'd found something that could take him faster then his feet – a broom, flying just like witches in books – he'd put the goal of getting back his housemates magical object second, flying first. In only a handful of moments he'd floated up, he'd dived and blocked and swooped and raced. It had made him feel like he was floating, even with his feet firmly on the ground.

He knew then that no one could keep him on the ground; he'd find a way, sneaking a broom ride in at night if he had to. He need not have worried; these people were not like his so-called family, they were glad that he was good at something. Maybe even a bit proud to say that they had a hand in his natural born ability. He had not cared what was said – not then, and _certainly_ not now.

Still, in the beginning things had seemed like they would never get old. He had taken delight in everything, in magic lessons, in magical school work, especially though in magical transportation. Then he had learned that not everything was how it appeared. Magic had its blacker places. It was just like anything else in life, not bad but not all good either. He hadn't really _known_ what that meant, not at first. He had finally known what it meant after he had broken free in a magical flying car, and realized that he liked the rumble of an engine, and the rush of wind better then the effortless movement of rider and broomstick. He was a bit strange, even then, for he liked to work for his reward. Something he thought to blame those who had had a hand in raising him only later.

Harry remembered vividly when the chill of the night had settled in his bones, when he had looked in eyes that came close to hellfire red. He had not understood what he was looking at, what kneeled over the fallen silver body of a unicorn. That knowledge came later; even so he was not quite sure that the meaning came to him fully. Not until later, when he realized it was his life and blood and body that housed a power that was like and unlike magic. It might as well have been magic; for all that love was understood to protect him from deadly harm. It seemed impossible, but was not.

Then it was too late. By then, when he knew love of family and friend, he was in the midst of a war. A net had settled over him, which seemed impossible to escape without a snag of scars. He lost Hermione the same day he lost Ron, though not in the same place. Hermione had been visiting the Burrow, a surprise to Ron, but Ron had gone away to get Harry. They came back to the Burrow in flames, to laughter and jeers of Death Eaters. Harry could smell and see it still; like cooked fish and burnt beef, the pale black smoke that curled about the bone white mark of Tom Riddle.

_"Ron – you can't go in, it's too late!"_

_"Harry, I have to…"_

_"Ron, please…don't do this – we can't – I won't…it…it's gone…!"_

_"Harry, do you trust me? I'll be back damn-it, just…it's… I need to make sure…" _

_"Alright…" _

_"I'll be back…you won't be alone."_

_"Sure…"_

The thing Harry regretted the most was not making more of a fuss. Ron would never have had forgiven him, but he thought sometimes it would be worth it to have Ron still alive and whole. What they had thought an empty yard had been an illusion. When Ron pulled the fire proof coat over his red hair and walked beyond smoke into flame, even by then it was too late. The Death Eaters with skull white masks glistening with blood had made themselves achingly real.

Harry knew then he was alone, for the blood was fresh on those bone masks.

What Harry would always remember was the not quite silence. The crackling of flame and the dull roar of sparks and rushing heat, even in that moment which he shivered and quaked in, he had not been alone. It had made him grateful to them, even as he loathed them all the more for seeing him so weakened, they were still human and there was something of respect in them for him, even if it was to go to the grave unacknowledged. There had been a photo taken that night, it had been printed on the front page of the newspaper the next day. It was of him watching the flames. He hadn't known he had cried until he saw it.

Something in him was glad to know he was still human enough to feel that sort of pain, numbed as he had been that morning.

He didn't quite know what had happened, even now. He only remembered the fire, he might have watched it till it smoldered out. Certainly his next memory was of waking in the tree in the front yard of the Burrow, seeing the dew on the leaves and smelling the tainted smoke. He had been sick; he still remembered the taste of bile if he lingered on those memories too long.

To find out what had happened, to get back those lost hours between being surrounded and waking to sorrow, he would have to stir up the dead and speak with them. It was not beyond his ability, but for once Harry had listened to the inner voice that reminded him all too much of Hermione and he had not so much as whispered his desire for his lost moments.

Perhaps it was best he did not know, but he was certain all the same that Tom Riddle was dead. There were no war stories; stories of great heroes rising and living into lore and fable, at least not at the end of this war. That had been Harry's intention – if he had one – in his moment of fleeing.

He had seen that morning's paper, and known with a certain sickness in his belly that he could not linger in the world that had made itself into his home. He would be haunted everyday. He would be without friend or confident or family. He was more alone now, having known those things and missing them; then he had ever been as an eleven year old orphan with abusive relatives.

So now, like then, he ran.

Or, rather, rode.

Sirius had left him his most treasured possession - his bike, a 1981 sleek as night Kawasaki. It flew – sometimes literally – and Harry sometimes rode into the night, still trying to catch his breath and wrestle himself away from memories and moments.

Harry liked that it was fast and powerful, reminiscing that it likened to his own power. Then, halfway out of a town he didn't know the name of; on the North-West side of the United States of America (at least he knew that much of where he was!)….his bike broke.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry was not about to admit he was sulking. Nonetheless, his arms were tucked under his chin and his fingers were fidgeting as he stared at a list of drinks. He was supposed to be thinking of getting something. It was that or leave, in which case he didn't have anywhere else to go. For the first time since he had had a wrist halter created (a bit of magic resistant cloth tucked under his forearm, held in place by straps against his elbow and biceps and the sensitive flesh of his wrist all to keep his wand out of sight and mind – not that he couldn't feel its magic), he wondered if he ought to try to fix it with magic.

It might make it worse. He knew how electric mechanics got along with magic. His bike was something he did not want to risk with a possible glitch of his magic and mechanic wonder. He felt the sick chill of sweat cling to his grey sleeveless shirt at the thought. He huddled a bit in his off-brown leather jacket, seeking not warmth but the comforting scent of oil and sweat and foreign air.

"You don't look very good." Harry jerked slightly, for the voice wasn't the greasy tones of the bar tender, or those of a woman. He'd learnt all too well what bar flies were in these past years and why one avoided them if you liked your pockets full of coin or paper money. Windblown and sun soaked but still black hair fell into his eyes, and he shook his head, rueful that he might as well be a shaggy puppy the way his black hair had grown out. It was strange how things like that snuck up on him.

The man that had settled into the seat next to him (or he was fairly sure that he hadn't been there when Harry had dragged his ass inside) had a dark tone of skin, though it was warm for he thought he felt the heat off it even this close. It reminded him of an engine snarling to life only to idle in place. He'd shaved his head, and Harry had the sense that it'd been like that for a while for it was a natural look, something this man was comfortable with. It wasn't awkward or done for style, it was simple – it was the way this man was. Harry liked that.

"Boys like you who come in here looking like you do are two things, in love and finding out their dumped, or stupid enough to think they'll find comfort in the likes of this place." A glint of dark eyes, amused and predatory, looked him over from head to waist. Harry stilled with that look, as it reminded him keenly of a dragon scoping him out from the edge of her nest. Harry knew now whose town this was. He was sitting beside the man who owned it in all but money and name. This man had the power of the common people at his beck and call.

"You're not drinking, so it isn't comfort you're looking for…which means a girl broke you? Or maybe you're chasing the other side of the coin?" There was an amused curl of lips, and Harry knew it was time to say something. He looked away, feeling awkward for the first time since he fled the magical world and the home he'd grown up in.

"Isn't neither, my bike quit." Harry mumbled the words, but they were heard. The man laughed then, surprising him, it was warm and rumbled like a well oiled car. Harry shivered a bit, peeking though his hair to look again at the stranger who sat beside him.

"Name is Dom'…I'll see that you get your bike fixed, boy." Full lips stretched over white teeth, and Harry smiled a little back, reminded of his first friend, a half giant. It seemed a lifetime ago. Dom offered him a hand, and there was a tenseness – a wary regard – this, Harry knew, was a choice. It was more then what it seemed. Harry didn't know what it was, not yet, but he was intrigued enough to stick around and find out.

"Y-you would? Alright…m'Harry." Harry felt keenly that Dom's hand was bigger then his own, and the calluses were rougher, his skin well used. Dom didn't change his expression, didn't think less of him for having hands better suited to books and pens. Harry liked him for it. He felt the strength in those hands when they pulled him up out of his seat with Dom to steady him a little. Dom didn't let him slip for appearances sake. It spoke well of the sort of man he was not to humiliate him when he could have. Dom nodded out the door, letting Harry go as Dom walked away.

This, Harry knew, was another choice. It was an easy one to make. He followed.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Note_; Biker!Harry, or rather BadAss!Harry. I like it either way, 'cuz Dom will be having…_fun_…as for why a 1981 Kawasaki? I needed something foreign sounding and in the right sort of timeframe…so –_shrugs_- there you are. If you know _something_ mechanical about bikes I can use to make Dom sound like he knows what he's doing, I shall giddily start on the next chapter.


	2. Glinting Through Rust

**Faster Than Flying**

_Abby Ebon_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Beta:_ vairetwilight_, (as of 11/1/09) who was a great help with fixing everything here.

_Note_: I've recently had a thought, so I changed that last bit in the previous chapter, it won't be Dom who works on Sirius' bike, but it is still a keystone to their interactions.

I bow down in thanks to _Esmaya, BOOMrobotdog, daughterofpenthesiliea_, and _Kayjay Dee_ (most especially, for now I know the direction the whole engine fix will take…) for their help about mechanics and engines; on with the chapter

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Glinting Through Rust_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Dom didn't know shit about bikes. He'd worked most of his life with cars that went faster in the first ten seconds then most people drove their whole lives. Car engines he understood – bike engines, well, those were different. That didn't mean he wouldn't keep his word to the kid. He'd pull a few favors and snarl a few threats to get the bike looked at.

He knew why he gave a damn. He'd seen a bit of his past in the boy. Even with a full shaggy head of dark hair and bright as glossy green paint eyes, there was still that familiarity in his posture and wary looks. He'd lost someone or something, maybe he was running – but it was for damn sure no broken down _bike_ put that much of a haunted look in the kid's eyes.

He'd lost something of himself.

Dom had felt a kinship with that, a small tie. It was enough to offer his hand and see what could be done. At least for now, Dom knew he was taking a risk. He didn't know the kid. He didn't know if this kid would pay up what was due for fixing the bike or run out. If he ran, well, he wouldn't get far in the middle of nowhere with people on his tail. Kid seemed the decent sort though.

If his accent was a little off.

"Where are you from?" Dom asked as he strode along the wooden planks that marked the establishment's balcony from the road. Nothing but gravel sidewalks stretched out between the shops and the road. It looked like the middle of nowhere, and it was – and it was why Dom felt safe enough to walk in broad daylight.

"Europe, or there about…." Dom glanced to the kid with a raised brow. Harry caught the look and straightened up, jutting his chin out and looking stubborn. Dom barked out a laugh again. If he kept Harry around only for amusements sake, it might be worth it. As it was, Harry stood just a hair shorter then Dom, though Dom hadn't realized it with the kid's slouched back and hunched shoulders. He wasn't really a kid at all, probably past drinking age – had to be to ride a bike in these parts, unless he didn't have a license. That would be stupid – the kid looked like a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

'Sides, it probably was the most important thing the kid held onto; if he was sulking like _this_ about it. He wouldn't risk loosing it. That was common sense. The silence stretched between them and Harry took his time about getting to wherever he'd dumped the bike after getting into town.

Kid was probably smart enough to realize this could be a trap, would likely take him on a "walk about" until he was satisfied that Dom was to be trusted enough to look at the damned bike. Dom had never had the greatest bit of patience, but he could appreciate Harry being wary. It was somewhat reassuring, innocent as the kid looked, he hadn't been sure. Someone had had the smarts to teach Harry how to survive.

"L.A." Dom growled out the answer to an unasked question, when it was clear it was not going to be asked. Dom didn't like silences, while Harry seemed the sort to be comfortable with them. That was somewhat annoying to know, as it meant Harry was used to being alone. This wasn't a one time trip, or a very short one.

"Big city, how'd you end up here?" There wasn't any suspicion in that question, only curiosity. Dom saw the kid look over his shoulder, narrow eyed, and shrugged. He couldn't give a real answer for that one – he suspected Harry would have the same sort of answer.

"Way most of us around here do." _Street racing, stealing from truckers, finding out a pal of yours is in with the government, spying on you, escaping it all because of that pal_. Yeah, that was _real_ usual around these parts. Green eyes glanced to him, studied him, Dom didn't look away until Harry did.

"How you know about engines?" Harry asked next, there must have been something in his voice that Dom hadn't meant to be heard, for this question came out soft, careful.

"My dad taught me. Look kid, I don't have all fucking day, stop jerking me around and show me the bike or the offer is off. You can find your own mechanic – good luck with that in this shithole." Dom had had just about enough, and it showed now. He didn't want to scare the kid off – not really, what he wanted was to see if the kid was salvageable. When you got used to running, you started not to care about people. After a while, it was something that you couldn't get over – you'd still be running, even if you were standing still.

"We're here." Harry was more amused by his outburst then startled or annoyed, Dom could tell that much. There was still humanity in the kid. When Dom looked to him this time, Harry had eyes only for what was in the dirty warehouse – abandoned with the rest of this part of town; safe enough here that Dom knew it wouldn't get stolen.

Dom sighed then and looked up to see the bike. It was a beauty – the kind that stayed with you though it was probably as old – or older, then the kid.

"What's her name?" Dom asked moving closer to the bike, where before Harry had been all fine and dandy to lead Dom into a part of town where no one would hear him scream, or find his body until it rotted, Dom was amused – in a approving sort of way, that Harry watched him carefully now.

"Name…?" Harry mused, narrow eyed, as if he had never heard of such a strange concept. Dom felt the corner of his mouth tilt as he ran his eyes over the bike, then glanced to Harry who watched him, tensed, finally taking it in how dangerous Dom could be. It didn't strike Dom that oddly that Harry only noticed now – where what he cared about was sitting stretched out between them.

"Bike like this one…it's obvious you take care of her – you've got to have a name for her, kid." It came out dryly and Harry watched him like a nervous narrow eyed cat. It was odd – even to Dom, that he found himself insisting on this fact – everything that drove and had a soul and a care taker; it had to have a name to match the soul given by its care taker. Dom was only too curious for what that name would be.

"My name is Harry, use it _ Dom_. It…I never bothered with a name." Harry finished softly; Dom stood back from the bike, looking it over and wondering what Harry would have said if Dom hadn't called him kid to his face. Harry had a past – a life before this, Dom was sure.

"It doesn't matter. What do you think, salvageable?" Harry's words startled him – because Dom had wondered if Harry was… _salvageable_, from his lifestyle. He saw some of himself in the kid. It was a weakness. He should just walk away, telling Harry it was pointless. It would fix the problem – that being Harry's running, all the same. It would also break the kid. Dom couldn't do that to him.

"Likely, we'll have to fetch a friend of mine. See what she says…I really don't know shit about bikes." Dom gave Harry a grin that had gotten him out of more scrapes as a kid then what he cared to fess up to. Harry only blinked at him, amusement creeping into his green eyes.

"She, huh?" Dom shifted his weight uncomfortably, knowing that Harry had unearthed the fact that he and Letty ….(who had stuck with him in this no-where town, even though, as she said, he had "poor taste in friends" and had broken it off, she and Vince had something going now) had a _ history_ – all it had taken was Dom mentioning it. Harry, he was learning quickly, was innerving in that regard. He'd have to watch himself; there were only so many secrets Harry could gleam off him before it got to be too much.

"I think she'll like you though." Dom reassured him, though Harry still looked uneasy at yet even more people knowing where his bike was stashed.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"I've got two kinds of news for you, Dom… the good," Letty announced as she stood from squatting down to look at the bikes engine, "and the not so good." She looked to Harry this time, with pressed lips and a curious expression lingering in her dark eyes.

"Have at it." Harry mumbled, nodding for her to continue, Letty patted the bike fondly though she hadn't taken her eyes off Harry.

"Though this brute has some shit I can't guess at what it's for – and your insistent it stays in place though it'd make more sense to rip it out and put it right - the problem isn't there, it's in the fuel – the pipes have nearly rusted and what isn't rusted is coated with years worth of gunk, have you _ever_ heard of a fuel change kid?" Letty demanded of him, Harry's blank look was enough to make her groan and rub at her temples – which left dark oil marks behind. Dom pressed his lips together so he wouldn't snicker. Harry kept his face perfectly black, somehow.

"How long have you had her?" It was more of a demand then a question, but even Letty couldn't seem to be spiteful to Harry; though Dom knew she was simply hard to get along with on the best of days.

"I've been riding for…a few years." Harry finished, looking aside as if ashamed. Letty said nothing for a long while, looking back at the bike she'd looked over only a little while ago.

"Damn, something magical kept it running for you then – I've never seen it get as bad as this…it is _fixable_, but that leads to the not so good news…" When Letty paused, Dom knew it would be bad. She gave softening eyes to Harry, who'd tensed up as if he was going to be dealt a blow. In fact…Dom's eyes narrowed, it was exactly as if the kid expected to be hit, thought it was natural – Harry didn't seem to see them a real threat, but it was defensive. As if he didn't know any other way to defend himself against something other then it being somehow physical.

"It'll cost so much, you might as well get another and sell this for scrap…" Letty was rarely motherly, but the way she studied Harry before she'd spoken, Dom knew she'd put some thought into her words before saying them. Letty caught his eye when Harry visibly relaxed, though he was still tense about his shoulders.

"That is _not_ happening." Harry told her firmly, though his eyes were so determined it was hard to argue, least they break – Letty did her best.

"But, the money…you clearly don't have it …. I'm sorry, really I am." Letty did sound sorry for him too – there was no false humility there. It was as real as it had ever been. Letty looked to Dom, asking him what was going to happen to Harry now – and knew that the kid had friends beyond himself. Letty would watch out for him, though Dom hadn't expected it.

"Don't be so sure. I'll get the money for you – just, trust me, alright? I'm better off then I look. Do either of you have a phone you don't mind if I use it to call long distance…?" Harry looked almost sheepish, scratching the back of his neck, though his eyes were someplace else, he was still talking. That much was good.

"_How_ long distance?" Letty asked of him, suspicious in only that his accent had thickened with his words.

"Around about England, or Scotland – I'm not too sure…I'd have to stay the night to hear back after…" Harry trailed off, coming to the present, Letty was shaking her head, hands held defensively in front of her as if to ward off Harry's pleading eyes.

"Forget it." Letty looked away then, careful not to look to the bike or Harry.

"You can stay with me." Dom surprised himself with the offer – he wasn't the only one. Harry looked at him a little too wide eyed, Letty though looked between them, suspicious of his motives. It didn't matter – until Letty looked at him narrow eyed bringing him back to reality.

"Dom?" Harry asked carefully, aware of the tenseness between Letty and he.

"He can stay, Letty." It was simply final. It had _nothing_; he tried to tell himself, with the first real smile that Harry had given him.

Nothing at all.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Note_; I saw a few of you mention there was another _Harry Potter/Fast and the Furious_ crossover that's rarely updated? I've never read it, so I'd be grateful if it was passed along to me by title and author name, thanks very much!


	3. Breathing In Dirt

**Faster Than Flying**

_Abby Ebon_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Beta:_ vairetwilight_, (as of 11/1/09) who this story could not be what it is without.

_Note_: so, I woke up thinking of this story this morning and couldn't seem to get a bit of amusing dialogue out of my head, so, this is what came of it…. this chapter is for _Fire of the lioness, ditchertypepersonBUM,_ and _psychoditz_; you know why. Thank you.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Breathing In Dirt _

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"So, this is the place, _ huh_…it's – a…" Harry trailed off, a bit sheepish to finish what he had started to say. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. He'd _seen_ worse – the all but abandoned Black Manor, Hermione after a cramming session – or Ron at breakfast, or the Weasley's in a rush. Though none of those "messes" had been so lived in looking; what had saved his years Gryffindor boys dorm was simple – house elves.

Harry had always _known_ that a house elf would find him and attach itself to himself and his dwelling if he ever settled down. A house elf needed the magic a wizard or witch gathered around them naturally when they settled into a place for a certain amount of time. Yet that pooling of power was inaccessible to them unless they claimed an attachment to the witch or wizard magically.

It was what had forced them to endure servitude, so they could thrive off that wild-magic that they would live on. At first house elves had tended to the land – then, seeing the sort of messes a wizard or witch was capable of within their own dwelling and knowing the nature of magic would make such messes worse rather then better.

Well, Harry knew now how a house elf might have felt facing the prospect of living on lands where a mess –magical in nature or not - could worsen to the point where the witch or wizard would move on rather then clean up. It may have seemed a small price to pay – and a witch or wizard might be oblivious to it at first – but they would realize and take advantage as was the usual nature of such situations.

Still, Harry having grown up cleaning up after himself and his relatives in the same sort of servitude that house elves endured felt the itch at his fingers to pick this place up – if only so he wouldn't have to live (even a night would be too long) in this sort of….mess.

Harry did not know how Dom _ endured_ it; let alone _lived_ in it. Something on his face must have betrayed his thoughts for Dom spoke then.

"A dump, yeah, I know." Harry was reminded of the fact that he owed Dom – who was taking him in as a stranger even now – who had given him a fair mechanic; so he swallowed and itched at the back of his neck as he protested his innocence.

"That wasn't what I was going to say!" Harry had ducked his head down, his eyes roved over the floor - there was dust in the corners of the floor; it looked as if it hadn't seen broom, mop, or vacuum since Dom had started calling it home. Still, he bit his tongue.

"Sure." Dom chuckled, amused at Harry's uneasy fidgeting and manners. Anyone else he knew would have bitched at him to get a "woman" (even Letty had said so, though she'd been smirking at him at the time); or to take out the trash. Dom could ignore a thing like cleaning up after himself – he was rarely home as it was and he didn't really have a sense of pride with his place as it didn't mean anything to him.

His friends knew that and accepted it though they rarely invited themselves over to his place. It seemed they thought he was hopeless without Mia. He didn't disagree, but Dom knew Mia didn't need to be reminded of what had been – she needed to move on, so when she'd told him about college and degrees and real careers – he hadn't argued with her leaving.

"So…_where_ is the phone?" Harry, wondering if it was wise to change the subject but unable to help himself, asked hesitating only a moment before he looked up to see what Dom's expression would tell him. It was bemused, if somewhat distant. Harry knew there was something else to this mess – but he knew not to ask. Not yet.

"Over there, on top of the newspapers." Tossed in the corner was a box, rolled up around the box were unopened local newspapers. Sure enough, perched precariously on the box was a telephone though Harry could not see where the cord went into the wall. Pressing his lips together, Harry wondered if he ought to mention the fire hazard – if only because magic and electricity often did not mix well.

Still, he kept his peace as he moved determinedly toward the phone. He had a call to make – it was almost sundown (hours had passed swiftly since Letty had started going over his bike and he had met Dom at the bar) – it would be early morning either way he figured it. He dialed a number – that of Ted Tonks, Muggle-born as he was Harry _knew_ he would have kept a phone to keep in contact with his family or friends. He was dead now, but his wife was not. It was also very likely that Andromeda would know what to do with a ringing phone though she was as pure blood ancient as a witch could be. Harry knew she would not have thrown out the phone, if only to keep as a memento.

Still, he did not expect someone else entirely to know how to answer the phone.

"Hullo, hullo…?" Child like and curious, Harry could almost picture the little boy – though he had never heard Teddy speak – who had answered. Harry felt as if he was frozen, he had not thought of Teddy – the son of Tonks and Remus Lupin (both deceased, he remembered with pained heartache); his own godson. For a moment Harry did not know how old Teddy would be. Harry thought of how many years had passed; Teddy would be a toddler.

Harry closed his eyes, swallowing down the dry lump in his throat. When he thought he could speak without his voice betraying him he began. He did not know that Dom was looking curiously at his tensed back.

"Hullo, this is, _ah_…is Dromeda…your grandmother, there?" Harry asked haltingly, cradling the phone to his ear, he could hear Teddy inhale and exhale in a sigh; apparently this happened to him a lot – people calling for his grandmother and treating him as the massager boy.

"_Yeah_…" Teddy told him at a soft –reluctant – mutter. '_One day_,' Harry promised himself and Teddy as he closed his eyes, '_I'll have to tell you who I am; who your father was – what your mother would have sacrificed for you_ …_just give me a year more_…'

"Can you get her for me, please?" Harry asked, trying to sound as if he wasn't about to break down in hysterics with the memories that threatened to overwhelm him like a storm he had not known he stood at the heart of until it was too late to run. Harry didn't know his hand was shaking – Dom noticed though.

"Yep… _Grandma_! Someone's on the tell-ah-phone for you!" With shrill tones Teddy called for Dromeda, who, Harry knew, would not thank him for this call.

"Yes?" Her voice was short and clipped, her irritation plain – it was the first time Harry had heard a full witch's voice in almost a half dozen years. He laughed, he hadn't realized what he was missing – the life in a voice holding magic was like giving water to a man slowly dying of thirst. Harry hadn't known he was missing it so much.

"H-Harry!…?" Andromeda's voice was soothing and kind now, as if she was approached by a cat she only now realized was wild. Still, she would seem to want to tame it. She was not unlike what he remembered. He was glad for that much.

"Yes, Dromeda, it's me. How is he?" There was only one _he_ that Harry would ask her about – as Andromeda knew very well that Harry's mind was lingering on the boy who'd answered the phone. Indulging him, she dove into the subject with as must enthusiasm as she could.

"Oh, Harry….you should see him for yourself; he is so like Remus for all he takes after my Nymphdora as a Metamorphmagus…it would do you good to see that they live on through their son; but he is fine, as am I. How are you? Are you in trouble...? – or, coming for a visit? I'll ready a room for you by tonight, if you're of mind for it. It wouldn't be any trouble." It was so painfully obvious that was her hope, Harry almost hated to refuse her offer. Still, he was all too aware that his side of the conversation had to be discreet for Dom would be listening, however much he did not want to.

"No, nothing of that sort, though I might visit soon; I _would_ like to see you – and _ him_. I have a problem, but it isn't any sort of the usual trouble I used to have. I only need some money. You remember that bike Sirius left to me? It seems it would have been wise of me to read up on certain bits of, ah, proper and regular maintenance. Still, you have a copy of my key – I left it to you incase there was anything Teddy would need – if you would withdraw a certain amount and have it sent – discreetly – I would be most grateful." Harry listened to her breathe over the line, considering situations and possibilities he might have gotten himself into. Andromeda was more then capable of bullying the Ministry of Magic into searching him out and sending the cavalry in if she thought he might be in the least bit of trouble.

"Grateful enough to visit for his birthday –_hmmm _- never you mind, I'll not guilt you into it though I've half a mind to do so, Harry – I'll do gladly what you ask. How much do you need…?" Andromeda trailed off; likely she was calculating how much she could afford to send off to him. Harry didn't mind – she had been born a wealthy pure blood and Harry had given back to her what was her Black birthright – moreover, he had given her say over most of the Black family wealth though he was –by all rights – the head of the Black house. Harry had never wanted to deal with it – but Andromeda had been raised to handle such things with a certain ease which Harry lacked. He trusted her; even with the matter of the Potter vault for Teddy.

"A small fortune, I'm not certain of the exact amount – but I might need to sell off one of the smaller properties." Harry told her somewhat reluctantly – he did not want her to worry too much – but he did need to settle with Letty so that he could get his bike repaired and be on his way.

"No need for _that_, I think I can get you your small fortune without resorting to giving bits of our family history or antiquities away." Her tone was humorous –light and flighty - though it was very clear that she would do no such thing unless it was a dire necessity. Harry would not force her to do such.

"I'm in agreement, Andromeda – I may hold the titles; but you're the _real_ power here, I'm not refuting that right." Harry reassured soothingly, he could not help the small smile that crossed his features. He was asking a favor – and wanted that made clear to her– yet Andromeda in her own way had all but told him that she would give over as much to him as she dared without ruining the life she had made for herself and Teddy. Still he did not know how much gold would turn into the proper amount of muggle money. It was especially confusing that this was needed in a currency that he was a stranger to.

"Do not sell yourself short, Harry – I will do what I can. You'll have what you need by tomorrow, I hope that is soon enough…?" There was a question in her tone – she had no way of knowing how deep in debt he was or what he owed to whom. There had been fools who'd gambled away more then their share of an inheritance.

"It is…thank you, Dromeda…" Harry reassured her, knowing that she would likely send too much – he remembered well the Potter vault. He bit his lip though, uncertain in his amounts as he was, he did not want to appear to have no wealth at all in which to pay Letty. In his own way he had given his word – he would do his best to keep it.

"You're more then welcome, I only wish you asked more often for help …" Andromeda trailed off then with a sigh, it was her own way of saying good-bye and a moment later the dial tone filled his ears. Harry put the phone carefully back into its cradle, turning then to regard the room at large. It disturbed him that he did not know when Dom had left him to his privacy.

"Dom…?" Harry called out, his voice a little louder then what was necessary. He heard a thump and a muffled curse. Harry trailed into the kitchen and blinked in shock – it, of all the places in the small one-bedroom flat – was spotlessly clean. Harry would never have pegged Dom for one to eat his own cooking.

It was an _interesting_ thing to learn.

"You are done with that call, then?" Dom asked his voice even as he looked over his broad shoulder at Harry – he nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral. With a look over Harry from head to toe, Dom tilted his chin, as if measuring Harry's worth. Harry pressed his lips, uncomfortable – and wondering how much Dom had heard.

"You any good in a kitchen?" It was somewhat doubtfully asked. Harry understood then, what Dom had been looking him over so intently for. He held in his laughter as he nodded once more, solemnly. Dom huffed and nodded in the general direction toward the fridge and stove.

"Well, then, what are you waiting for a gold invitation? Get your ass over here and help." This time, Harry didn't bother to hold in his laughter as he moved to help Dom with setting up something to eat. It was only a fair compromise, Harry reasoned, for the use of the overnight couch.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Note_; my thanks also goes to everyone who passed along "Drive to Survive" by _Ero-Kitsune_ on adultfanfiction(dot)net; I really enjoyed the story! Here is to hoping that there will be more soon, yeah? Also, I found out that there will be a new movie, sort of a sequel to the first and second but a prequel to the third; _Fast & Furious_ with Vin Diesel playing Dom…I'm not tempted, **yet**…_honest_….

I mean, I haven't even _seen_ the movie yet…alright, _alright_, for future reference beware the possibility of upcoming movie spoilers (it'll be about April when it comes out) as I'll likely tie in that movie with this bit of fiction. -_Mumbles_- there, evil-demon-plot-bunnies, _happy_ now? ... -_sighs_- nope, they never are…there went my plans of this only being a five-chapter snippet…someday I _**might**_ learn that things never go as you plan for them to…

Also, be warned – I'm watching _Knight Rider_ these days, so the appeal of a talking motorcycle is more then a _little_ tempting….


	4. Rumble Like A Roar

**Faster Than Flying**

_Abby Ebon_

Beta:_ vairetwilight_, (as of 11/1/09) who helped a lot in this chapter.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Rumble Like A Roar_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Dom tried not to think of it as eavesdropping. Still, he knew – there was no denying it – that there are some conversations that you _know,_ from the very start, are meant to be private. Dom thought, later, he _knew_ this was one of those from the very start.

Harry hadn't made a move to gesture him out of the room – or asked, or anything of that like. Harry might respect this place as his; Harry, in his own way, accepted and embraced his role as his guest. Dom got the feeling that Harry had been raised in a way that was as strange to Dom as motorcycle engines.

It was a strange feeling, that certainty.

Dom didn't know much about etiquette, he certainty hadn't studied it – or been taught much of it. He knew the basics – using forks instead of fingers, elbows off the table, certain things not said (sex, drugs, politics…) around the dinner table. Those lessons had been taught by Letty, all the same, Dom grasped there was _more_ to it then that.

Dom had never had much interest in learning anymore then what he had in his head. Now though, now he was curious. What was he _supposed_ to do? What did Harry expect of him? Dom didn't have a clue.

Harry _knew_ he was there, Dom argued to him self, as he fidgeted where he stood watching Harry dial; knowing he was hovering when he didn't have much right to do so. Dom was close enough that he heard a child-voice answering the phone. Harry's reaction startled him – Harry was frozen, and if Dom didn't know any better he would have thought something like fear was smothering Harry where he stood. Still, Dom recognized the brittle fear that tensed Harry's back.

"Hullo, this is, _ah_…is Dromeda…your grandmother, there?" Whatever it was – fear, sorrow – pain - , Harry forced himself to speak through it. It was a brave thing to do. Dom would not have known something of it lingered – if he didn't see Harry's hand begin trembling while holding the phone to his ear.

"Can you get her for me, please?" There was still some tension, but if the child suspected it – there was no sign. Dom moved far enough away that he wouldn't hear what was said on the other side of the line. He would give Harry that much courtesy.

Dom was, though – no doubt of it – more then a little curious when Harry started laughing. It was brittle, tinged with hysteria – but it was what Harry needed. Dom knew that much, for Harry's next words were clean of whatever memories had scared and smeared him at the start of the call.

"Yes, Dromeda, it's me. How is _he_?" Dom had to wonder how much of this call was good for Harry. Maybe whoever he was calling was as close to a family as he had. Maybe he had a home, Dom hadn't thought – hadn't guessed that he might. He had _thought_ Harry was a run away. Maybe he was, but if he was calling home after all this time…. Dom had to wonder why he hadn't gone back before.

Was there something at "_home_" that Harry had good reason to be afraid of? The thought that the kid _ might_ have a safe place – a sanctuary – but that place had been tainted, that Harry had ran from it… _that_ pissed Dom off. Not at Harry – but at whoever had ruined Harry this much, whoever "at home" had carved the tombstones in his eyes, to the point where Harry didn't know how to stop running.

Dom was suddenly, _viciously_ glad, Harry was here – with him – safe. Whoever he was calling, whoever had hurt him "at home"; they would have to come here. Dom would get his chance for revenge – for Harry's sake – if he were patient. It he waited. Dom knew he could wait, if it meant dealing out some of the pain he saw echoing in Harry – some of the pain that Dom himself had had been burdened with in his youth.

"No, nothing of that sort, though I might visit soon; I _would_ like to see you – and _ him_. I have a problem, but it isn't any sort of the usual trouble I used to have. I only need some money. You remember that bike Sirius left to me? It seems it would have been wise of me to read up on certain bits of, ah, proper and regular maintenance. Still, you have a copy of my key – I left it to you incase there was anything Teddy would need – if you would withdraw a certain amount and have it sent – discreetly – I would be most grateful."

It took a moment for Dom to adsorb what Harry was _saying_, despite what Dom was _hearing_. Harry was trying not to say things he shouldn't. Dom knew that Harry was aware of him – he had not been forgotten. Harry thought he might visit whoever 'Dromeda' and the child-voice were. There were no ill feelings between them. Harry trusted them. Dom settled down, sorting out what he had heard while Dromeda chatted at Harry. She seemed the type.

There had been something about a key – and Harry was better off then he thought, if he had been left an inheritance (for the sorrow in Harry was plain when he spoke of this Sirius-fellow, Dom had to wonder who he had been father, brother…friend?) – or at least well enough off that a 1981 Kawasaki had been included. Harry cared about the _bike_, not wealth – that much was clear.

Yet he was rich enough where he hadn't thought – or researched into – something as simple as maintenance. It spoke of a carelessness that was not intentional. Harry hadn't meant to not know – but the unfamiliarly, the disregard – it itched at Dom as something _strange_. He wouldn't disregard that feeling of unease, not yet.

"A small fortune, I'm not certain of the exact amount – but I might need to sell off one of the smaller properties."

Dom had a hard time holding his tongue. Being well off enough was one thing – wealthy inheritance another – but _properties_ (the very would implying there was more then one building or land acre included in the mass of it) was something very different all together. Harry was English, and to Dom's limited knowledge of the overseas only the powerful – very old _ noble_ families – owned any properties of any significant value.

Dom tried to stifle his stirring of unease; he could be misreading the entire conversation. It was only one side, but it was Harry's side – and that significance was not lost to Dom. He tried not to feel used – or betrayed. Harry didn't owe him anything. He had not misled him, if leaving things out was a crime – well, Dom was guilty of it too.

"I'm in agreement, Andromeda – I may hold the titles; but you're the _real_ power here, I'm not refuting that right."

Something in his chest eased with that claim. Harry was what he looked like. He was a figurehead to this woman, this Dromeda – she was the one with the wealth, the one who had been raised to it. How she fit into Harry's past, Dom didn't know, but he knew – was sure- that the wealth…. Harry didn't want it. That much, even Dom could read from Harry.

It was a strange thing – as strange as that carelessness Harry had that didn't seem to fit with his nature. Dom had always wanted money – it was the way of things, the wealthy had power, the not-wealthy wanted power and money. Harry had both, seemingly, yet the way he lived – the ease he had – it spoke loud and clear; Harry might hold titles and lands and wealth, but he hadn't been raised into it.

Harry it was a relief for Dom to know – to be _sure_, that he did not secretly look down on Dom.

It was enough, for now. Dom moved toward the kitchen, wondering if Harry was any good at eating his own cooking. If not, well, Dom would find something for Harry to do to earn his keep. One thing was certain, Dom didn't want to think of money – and he didn't want to think Harry had it, while he did not. He didn't want it to get in the way.

Dom heard Harry call for him, and was glad he hadn't stuck around to hear the end of the phone call. There was that much trust between them. Dom cursed as the knife he had been holding slipped. As he held the clean dishrag to his sliced hand, Dom heard the muffled footsteps that were the only sign of Harry walking into the kitchen. It, at least, was clean.

Slightly smug about it, Dom looked over his shoulder to take in Harry's expression; there was amusement (though some worry lingered) and a certain relief at the cleanliness found here. Dom let Harry know in his own way that Dom had overheard enough of his phone conversation to know that Harry was – as he had said – much better off then he looked.

Dom found he was surprised with the ease that Harry took to his knowing. Most people would want promises kept about such a finding. Between heating noodles and cooking sauce, Dom figured it out. It _wasn't_ a secret. At least, it wasn't the biggest one. He wondered what else there was to know about Harry. Then he decided, as he gestured to where the plates were – that he'd stick around Harry to find it out, even if he had to get used to motorcycles.

Dom settled into the wooden chair, and mused on what Letty and Vince might say if they found out his plans. What would Mia think? Dom snorted softly, shaking his head as he ate. Dom suspected that he would find out soon enough, Harry did seem determined to be on the road _sooner_ rather then later.

"Are…" Harry trailed off, the lingering pause as telling as the way that Harry stared down at his food, rather then look across the table to Dom. Harry wasn't yet sure of his welcome. It came from the running, that uncertainty. Dom glanced up, but he knew it wouldn't be any help to address something that Harry wouldn't say outright; for all that the unspoken strained between them.

Harry swallowed, itching nervously at the back of his neck as his eyes shifted over the room. His eyes skimmed over everything, then – with a sigh – those gloss green eyes settled on Dom almost accusingly.

"Are you sure, you know, that you want to do this –not that I'm not grateful…but…? Things, they aren't _normal_ with me. I mean, you heard…well, I don't know what you heard – but, you can guess I've got a past –a bad sort of history, you could say, and the reason…" Harry looked away then, studying carefully the plate and bits of pasta left on it, as if he was trying to divine an answer in it.

"The _reason_ I'm asking is, well, it's because when I stay in one place – even if I hadn't made the call to 'Dromeda…well, history has a way of catching up with me – and I'm not sure…I don't think you _ know_ what that means, what I'm trying to say is…I don't want you to regret taking me in. I just want you to know that, and that…that I understand if you would prefer if I went somewhere else – you already did me a favor by letting me use the phone – and feeding me…" Harry trailed off, his lips twisting in guilt. Dom thought he had said enough. He wasn't going to hold the sketchy words against Harry – it was enough that he had admitted to them. What Harry had admitted, in a roundabout way, was that he _had_ been running from something – or someone, for years. It was progress.

"You givin' me an out, kid?" Dom rumbled the words, leaning back in the chair so that the wood creaked, his arms folded over his chest defensively. Harry pressed his lips together unhappily; stubborn he tilted his chin up to face Dom. He had a point to make – they both did; it would be seen to an end.

"Yeah, I guess…I guess you could say that." The words were almost a sigh they were so soft. Harry shifted his weight, getting up from his seat – he pulled the brown leather jacket tighter around his narrow shoulders. Dom couldn't remember a time when he had seen anyone who looked more like a dejected puppy. Harry had his back to him, making his shuffling way to the door.

Dom decided to put an end to _ that_ right then.

"I haven't changed my mind, though you might prefer the guest bedroom to the couch, it's on the far side of the living room." Harry didn't say anything – he didn't need to. Not when Dom heard the shuffling steps lighten with relief; he heard the guest bedroom squeak shut, rather then the thump-slam of the main door.

Satisfied with a day's work of taking in strays; Dom cleaned up, deciding to leave the dishes for the morning – noticing as he did so, that Harry had eaten most of everything. The tugging of a lingering worry easing, Harry wasn't malnourished if he could eat so much in one sitting. It was a small worry of his that had been eased, but Dom found he was grateful for the small miracles granted.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Note; … it took most of today, but there you are – a new chapter, yay me!


	5. Billowing Clouds In The Night

**Faster Than Flying**

_Abby Ebon_

_Disclaimer_: It's here somewhere…ah, yes, see, this here document proves it – I don't own anything, _see_? .... the fact that you can't see it proves _ nothing_! Oh, okay, I'll spell it out for you; I do not own "_Harry Potter_" or "_The Fast and the Furious_"…

Beta(s):

_wolf-shinigami_, (as of 10/19/09) who did some editing here.

_vairetwilight_, (as of 11/1/09) who helped a lot in this chapter.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Billowing Clouds In The Night_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_"Ron – you can't go in, it's too late!"_ Ron's hand was too warm gripped by his own. It was a stark contrast to the terror and horror, cold and dispassionate that coursed through his blood. Harry could not turn away as he, stricken, watched the flames, not knowing that the flames seemed to kindle golden embers within his forest green eyes. Ron, his back to the flames, took in the sight with a wary disparity.

_"Harry, I have to…"_ Ron was pleading with him, fingers tightening briefly around his own. Reassuring, soothing, that warmth was driving away the numbing cold. Harry wasn't sure he _wanted_ to let Ron keep on touching him; he didn't want to feel the pain he knew he would endure if the icy grip of disbelief was washed away. Ron pulled firmly away, and Harry – reluctant, grateful – let him take a step away.

_"Ron, please…don't do this – we can't – I won't…it…it's gone…!"_ Harry wasn't aware of the flare of a gold ring that cradled his pupil. Ron swallowed, looking away from the eerie gaze as he took in the sight of the only home he had ever known, burning. His freckles stood out boldly against his pale features, he didn't know he already looked beaten. It was that, more then his words, which caused Harry to give in to him so easily.

_"Harry, do you trust me? I'll be back damn-it, just…it's… I need to make sure…" _ Harry closed his eyes against Ron's words and features; it gave Ron a moment of relief. He knew, as plain as it was before him to see with his own eyes, the more that the Dark Lord fought to snuff out the life in Harry, the more of a stranger Harry was becoming. It was frightening. Harry sighed softly, though Ron could see the defeated slump of his shoulders. His heart, already torn, ached for his best friend.

_"Alright…"_ With Harry's word, Ron almost changed his mind, but he swallowed and pressed his lips together so that Harry would not know how he struggled. Their balance had shifted; it made how vulnerable – no matter also how strange- Harry truly was plain for Ron to see for the first time.

_"I'll be back…you won't be alone."_ Harry heard Ron speak one last time, a futile promise – but maybe, maybe it would make all the difference. Harry didn't know if he could survive without anyone at all. Ron's fingernails bit into his own palm.

_"Sure…"_ Harry's answer held emptiness – a void. Something unseen had broken within him. Ron feared what it might be, but he _knew_ then, Harry _ could not_ be left alone. Something terrible would happen if he were.

"_Come with me, Harry_." Ron gave Harry an awkward forgiving sort of grin, and Harry, solemn and strange as he was lost in this moment, nodded with a slight twist to his lips that was not quite a grin.

Ron took out a dragon hide coat, it had been a gift from Charlie – and Harry half feared that it would soon serve as his burial shroud; still, there was nothing to be done as it was draped over their heads. They made slower progress then Ron liked getting though the burning door of the Burrow, made weak by fire. Harry had feared that they would have to search for Ron's family – for Hermione – but it was too easy to find them, bound to the floor that was not – yet, burning.

"_So, you've come after all, to see this last line of traitors ended_…_bad-blood, deceitful, all of them_." Ron had not faced Voldemort as often as Harry, but he knew that voice, it slid over them like something smothering. Life leaching, even when Ron did not dare turn – Harry did, pivoting on his heel, his wand (where had he gotten it from?) pointed steadily toward Voldemort. His eyes were burning gold.

"_Let them go, Tom, this is between us – leave them out of it_." There was no question – no asking – in Harry, later he would wonder with aching pain in his heart if Voldemort would have released them (did he not have what he wanted, with Harry before him?) if he had asked it kinder. Harry had gotten too used to Voldemort and his antics; it left an imagined distance between Harry and Tom and reality – as if all that was happening between them could be left behind with a leap. Yet neither would leave the other behind as less then dead.

"_You would demand such from me…but, I wonder, would you beg_?" Those words purred out of the smoke, intimidating and pleased. Ron finally turned his head to look over his shoulder, his hate – his anger, could not be disguised or dismissed.

Voldemort laughed, throwing his head back – pale throat exposed, _vulnerable_, Ron thought. Ron, forgetting magic in his rage, leapt for him. Harry, not expecting such, was too slow to stop him. With a gesture, for not a word was spoken, Voldemort flung Ron to the floor. He lay there, panting, prone; it was all too obvious that Voldemort had been teasing –_testing_ - him; had meant from the very beginning to hold him under his power, to _use against Harry_. It was too late, too obvious – Ron cried out in frustration. Time itself, as if it rejected what was happening, seemed to draw out and slow things that could not – would not – be stopped.

"_Yes, I would beg, Tom – is that what you want of me_?" It hurt Ron to hear Harry say so, for only he –and Voldemort - perhaps knew what it would cost Harry. Voldemort sneered down at Harry, a mocking smile twisting his pale features. Silver eyes and gold clashed, and then there was a rushing in Harry's ears, as if he was in a car and the window was down with the wind choking him; a feeling as if something in his stomach had dropped out lurched up his throat.

They weren't in the Burrow anymore, in the distance, the Burrow was burning. What he had thought an empty yard had been an illusion. The Death Eaters, with skull white masks glistening blood, had made themselves achingly real. Harry knew then he was alone, for the blood was fresh on those bone masks. Anyone that might have tried to find out what was happening at the Burrow – to help him, was dead.

"_Yes. Beg…_" There was twisted longing there, underneath the words Voldemort used. This night, he knew he had gone too far, he had made this war between them personal – though Tom had taken his parents, Harry had never known them as he had his friends and the Weasley family. It had gone too far with the death of Sirius, of Dumbledore – and now, this, this was too much – even for Tom.

Sickened, Harry took stumbling steps backward, as if doing so – as if putting distance between them – would take back what had been done. Harry was unaware of the gold flames licking at his feet, lapping at his skin, threading though hair. When he looked up, there was no pupil in his eyes, no whites; they were smoldering –_smothering_ - gold.

"_Good boy, whatever else comes of this night, you've learned hate_." Voldemort smiled again, a quirk to his lips that made him seem almost _proud_ of his enemy. It was, of course, illusion – trickery. Tom was very good at faking things.

There was an eerie not quite silence. The crackling of gold flame that hovered upon him, the dull roar of sparks on his skin and rushing heat within him, even in that moment which he shivered and quaked in, he had not been alone. It had made him grateful to them, even as he loathed them all the more for seeing him so weakened, they were still human and there was something of respect in them for him, even if it was to go to the grave unacknowledged.

Harry never spoke. Yet his reaction to those words was profound, it was as if the entire world was a lake, and he was a stone thrown in. The world quaked, the very air rippled as magic threw itself outward, in the distance the Burrow, still lit by flames, smoldered to nothing within that heartbeat. For all that it was a ruined, blackened heap – the implication was clear. For the first time, the silver eyes of the Dark Lord dimmed with doubt.

Harry took ruthless advantage. It was almost too easy, to make the blood on the white-as-bone skull masks, the Death Eaters own, they cried blood – even as their skin burnt and their bodies fell, wrecked with pain, onto the ground. He gave them no mercy, they could not even scream.

Among them, only Tom still stood, as if the last field of crop not harvested.

"_This is not hate, Tom_," Harry did not open his mouth, but the words – the thoughts, ran through both their minds, their lives until this moment had been entwined, as closely tied as two threads interwoven on a tapestry, "_this is mercy_."

It was messily done, Harry half did not know what he was doing – but he did know it had to be done. Harry broke the last tie between them; the bit of Tom's soul that had clung to Harry all his life was severed, flung away from his own. Still, it stained him, memories that were not his own would taint his perspectives. Tom hadn't known that this night, they had gathered for celebration. Or perhaps he had suspected, yet he had no way of knowing that all his other Horcruxes had been fished out and destroyed; his eyes melting silver, widened as the knowledge echoed through him.

An eerie smile hovered over Harry's lips, his fingers twisted, as if having a choking hold on a door knob. Tom had used the scar upon Harry's brow against Harry many a time, but Harry had never done so.

Tom had thought he couldn't - he was the master of it, his magic having been the reason. Yet it was not so. As the last magic he had ever done, Tom had not realized that if Harry flung away his soul - rid himself of the scar, his magic would go with it.

Tom had no defense to this, golden flamed licked at the scar, and it healed- its angry rawness fading, the blood drying, leaving only a silver mark, as if Tom could not quite believe this, he gripped his wand – crying out.

"_Avada Kedavra._" There was no flare of green fire. No pull from the scar that was their connection. No magic at all. Harry had cut him off, discarded him. Tom's eyes widened in horror as he realized that he was not only helpless; he was what he hated most. A _Muggle_.

Tom took a halting step back, for Harry was still burning with golden flames that left his skin unmarred, a physical – visual- awareness of a magical life-force. Voldemort held his hand up to see silver flickering in his palm; he frowned, confused, conflicted – looking upward to Harry, his mouth forming words he never spoke. Silver smoldered, burnt out.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had died.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry Potter woke, choking back a scream. He lay there, gasping and panting - he couldn't seem to breathe. It had not been a dream. He remembered, _finally_, remembered – maybe it was only that he finally trusted someone again, that he had lay down in a strangers spare bedroom and had not been wary.

Or maybe it was something about time, that he had healed, and his magic – which for months after had been spent, a wretched thing that would not be prodded for even the easiest of spells. Whatever it was, he _remembered_.

Harry heard his heart beating in his chest, like a bird trying to take flight. He swallowed dryly, closing his eyes, curling to his side. His face buried in his pillow, he let his shoulders heave with tears he had only sparingly shed. Gradually, he became aware – he had sweated as if in a fever, he felt as if he should wash away what taint stained him by remembering. How could he have forgotten it all?

Feeling wretched, he stood, stumbling, not bothering to get something to wear from his duffle. Harry could come back to get it, afterwards, couldn't he? All that seemed to matter at the moment was that he gets clean, and quickly. He doesn't exactly run to the bathroom, but getting to the bathroom is a blur of movement, no details seem to sink in.

Harry must have made more sounds then he thought, though. That was almost certain. To him it seemed that the night swallowed up the sounds he made, somehow that was comforting. As if his returned memories didn't matter nearly so much as he thought they did. Harry focused for a moment, taking in the sight of the bathroom – a single toilet, a shower without a curtain, and a sink on the third wall. It took him a moment, fumbling, to turn the knobs so that the water was cold enough to shock him out of his slump and not let him fall asleep.

With his luck, he'd likely drown. Harry didn't think Dom would like that much.

Thoughts raced through his mind as he stood under the shower – should he bother announcing his recovered memories? The mystery of the death of the Dark Lord, well, even he, as remote from the Magical World as he had made himself become, still heard whispers and rumors.

Who would –_could_ - he tell a hint of this to, without it leaking out? There were precious few he trusted. For a while he dwelled on Andromeda, she who was the only family – however distant – he could claim. Her voice was a reassuring echo in his mind, soothing. Keenly, he missed her, and missed Teddy more, who he had held only a half-dozen times. He did not want to burden them, but who else could he trust?

Luna Lovegood, a seer who he had always liked, who was strange and unearthly in her ways. With pale skin and golden hair, even he hadn't missed the mutters that he should settle down, and that they would make as good of a pair as any other. He remembered the booming laughter of Kingsley Shacklebolt when Harry had stuttered and mumbled out the question of how to tell Luna that, while he loved her fondly, he was not _in love_ with her. Kingsley, after he had caught his breath, had placed a large dark hand resting reassuringly on his shoulder, telling him firmly that Luna already _ knew_ that, and it was only fool's talk.

Harry became aware, as if waking from a long sleep that he was still crying, the shower smothering out the sounds he made with rushing water. He realized then, that he was not as alone as he thought – there was a pecking on the window, the grey and brown owl determined to gain entrance, no matter that it was a muggle dwelling.

More importantly, Dom stood framed in the doorway, his expression Harry thought was a mix of both amusement and mortification. Beneath the rushing shower water, Harry knew he was very naked – as if it was Dom that were nude, not he – Harry flushed red, adverting his eyes to the window and the owl.

It was perhaps not the best idea, drawing Dom's attention to the thick white parchment clutched in its talons; very obviously, it was why the determined owl wished to enter.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Note_; … I would love you forever if someone would, _pretty please_, draw the whole Dom-walking-in-while-Harry-is-showering scene. Owl optional.


	6. Soaring Though Skies

**Faster Then Flying**

_Abby Ebon_

_Disclaimer_: I do not own "_Harry Potter_" or "_The Fast and the Furious_"…the fact that I haven't seen the latest movie, "_Fast and Furious"_, only burns in my fan-girl heart a little bit. Fear not, this too shall be remedied; when I'm not feeling so very lazy.

P.S. – **Male/Male sexiness ahead!** (Though no actual sex happens)

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Soaring Though Skies _

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Dom would have to be deaf to _not_ have heard the soft sounds of distress and the restless turning from the bed in the next room. _A nightmare_, Dom thought – with some small amount of sympathy. He had his fair share of things he'd rather forget, and dreams that haunted him with skewed views on harsh reality.

It was when the shower came on that he remembered the fact that there weren't any towels in the bathroom. Dom gave into the urge to groan and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He would have to get up, with a little reluctance he did so, going from his bedroom to the laundry room; which was incidentally in front of the bathroom.

Dam waited a moment, hearing the shower run – he thought for a moment he heard tapping on glass. He shook his head and pushed the door open, keeping his eyes firmly to the ground, the towels tucked under his arm. He was determined not to look up, no matter how his imagination taunted him with temptation.

He took one step toward the sink, planning to put the towels there. He heard Harry's indrawn breath, and would have kept his eyes glued to the ground were it not for the fact that something most definitely had _rapped_ on the window. Dom's eyes flew upward with the instinct of a born racer, and there he was.

Water pounded down on him like a punishing downpour of rain, he looked wet and bedraggled and earnestly _pathetic_. His eyes were red and bruised, and Dom felt a swell of protectiveness well up within him. He'd been crying where Dom couldn't hear him, of course Dom knows he'd had a nightmare, knew it was a bad one – but he hadn't thought there would be more tears in the shower; those wounded green eyes flinched away from the sight of Dom.

Showers were for cleansing, a daily ritual of cleanliness; to wash away the tears from nightmares, and rid oneself of the grit (not always physical) of the day.

Even with Harry looking away, Dom didn't dare look down, he'd seen a long flash of pale skin and a scattering of black hairs, and now – now Harry's cheeks (the ones on his face) were looking hot to the touch, like he'd been slapped.

Dom heard an insistent _tap, tap, tap_ against the glass; and because it was glass, and this was the bathroom, he looked to the window.

A very large grey and brown owl looked back at him. Its head tilted as Dom looked at it, as if saying "_well, I'm here, you clearly see me – won't you please let me in_?"...

"Harry…" Dom starts to say, tongue tangling in a pause that stretches into a silence he doesn't know how to bridge.

"Ah, it's for me." Harry doesn't bother with turning the water off, as he keeps his eyes adverted from Dom, so he doesn't notice Dom's eyes widening, seeing his intention; and moves instinctively and swiftly forward. Harry steps out – heedless of the laws of physics (he's never had to obey them before, not really, and has trouble remembering them now) – and when wet skin meets slick tile, Harry inevitably begins to slip, but Dom is there to catch him.

"Easy…" Dom breaths, Harry leans easily on him as he gets his other leg underneath him, as if they've done this before and Harry had known all along that Dom would be there to catch him. There is something else he wanted to say, but for the life of him, he can't recall it.

It doesn't change the fact that Harry is naked and wet in his arms, slender fingers clenching and tangled into his shirt; nails scratching at his skin though thin cloth. Vivid green eyes narrow to his whole world and limp wet strands of wild black hair are tangled in his fingers.

Harry's mouth opens with a breath, to speak, to sigh, but the tongue peeking out between his lips is too tempting. Dom leans down to kiss them; the touch is soft despite Harry's stubble, their lips barely pressing, Dom breaths in and Harry smells of soap and damp and something wilder that Dom has never encountered in a city.

Dom's other hand holds Harry's hips in place against his, to steady him, to urge him to do more – Dom doesn't know his own intentions. Not with Harry pressed against him, nude as the day he was born, with a sweet blush across his tanned cheeks.

The owl Dom will always remember, ruined – or saved – things.

It shrieked, impatient, or it had a death wish. Dom glared at it as if expecting it to drop dead.

"What's that in its talons?" A thick white envelope takes the place of the folded leg of the owl, as it stands patiently on one foot. Dom didn't think that owls do that naturally, but maybe it's some sort of trick, for its fairly obvious this owl is kept by someone.

Harry gives him a sideways glance, a smile playing at his lips_. City-boy_, that teasing look says.

"Won't know that unless you let me go over there, will I?" Harry asks in turn, his words shaking Dom out of the sensations. It's pleasant, but distracting. For a moment Dom doesn't know if _that_ thought was meant for Harry's words, or Harry's body against his.

Dom slowly lets Harry go; he'd been unaware of his hand on Harry's hips, his arm around Harry's shoulders where his hand tangled in longer hair then boys who looked pretty ought to have. He hadn't really wanted to let go, either.

Harry moves like a predator toward the bird, sleek and skilled. Dom is surprised this bird, which is supposed to be a wild animal, doesn't shy away because of instinct. Harry opens the window while the owl waits, and fearlessly outstretches his hand for the letter which the owl gives over to Harry without turning its head away from Dom's stare.

Its body turns around, yet it keeps _looking_ at him, its head is somehow twisted behind it as it looks over its shoulder at Dom. It's very eerie, and Dom is almost entirely certain the owl is doing it on propose. Just to creep him out for some sort of sick owl-like humor.

When Dom blinks, the owl is gone from the window sill.

From beside him, Harry stifles a sound that could very well be the beginnings of a laugh.

"Don't worry; Blodwedd doesn't take well to anyone at the first meeting." Dom, once he makes sense of the word – and realizes it's the _name_ of the owl that sounds like 'blood-wed', finds himself shrugging, why would he care if a _owl_ liked him?

Harry breaks a black wax seal with a crest of a dog and a stag with a lightning bolt parting them, and while Dom knows nothing of the customs of people living overseas, it strikes him as a romantically old fashioned gesture. The paper isn't from a printer- and neither is it 'letter paper' with lines, and yet the letters elegantly scripted there are the work of freehand, the letters running a straight line across the page.

At first sight, the words are so artful looking; Dom can't make heads or tails of it. Little words jump out at him, they catch his eye because they are so unfamiliar to what Dom knows that they don't make sense.

Then it doesn't matter, because Harry turns the paper away, aware now that Dom had been looking at the letter as an oddity – not out of an urge to invade his privacy anymore then it has already.

It's pretty bad that Dom doesn't know when that line between privacy and personal started to blur with Harry; he doesn't know if there are anymore such lines to cross. Dom isn't a bad guy, criminal? Yes, but not _bad_. Laws, after all, are written by governments, and governments are corrupt and filthy things feeding off people who haven't really a choice between two evils.

"Bit of an inside joke…" Harry says, absently, as his eyes skim over the letter and Dom had to shake his head, to realize that Harry was still aware of him, and was talking to him, to distract him. Maybe.

"Blood wed?" Dom says the owl's name the only way he can, because his mouth can't form the name any other way, like Harry's mouth can. And perhaps it isn't the best idea, to be thinking of Harry's mouth and lips and tongue with the young man standing beside him without a stitch of clothing on.

"Yeah…" Harry says softly in agreement, distantly. His eyes are far away, as they skim over the parchment in his hands. Dom has to wonder what it is he remembers, why it gives him such a look, but he doesn't dare ask aloud, he doesn't know Harry nearly so well as that. He wonders if he ever will.

"What's the joke?" Dom decides to ask, when Harry is folding the parchment up and tucking it into the envelope. He tucks it behind the sink knob, and glances at Dom in the mirror, flashing a grin full of white teeth as he answers.

"Inbreeding." Dom's eyes flinch away from Harry's in the mirror, even as his own rough laugh echoes in his ears.

He leaves the towels on the sink, feeling big and clumsy and maybe a little stupid, standing beside Harry, shaking his head as if it's at that twisted logic and sense of humor that goes in the naming of an owl. Dom does wonder though, how much truth there is to it; inbreeding and blood weddings, what sort of world was it that Harry raised in, and grew up knowing?

Absently, without a thought to consciences or second-guesses, Dom claps Harry on the shoulder.

"Well let's hope it doesn't come to that, then, to get you out of this mess." Dom means the bike and the bill that Letty is even now likely calculating, but something in the way Harry tenses is shoulders beneath Dom's hand makes Dom think of Harry's nightmares, of his running away, of his unthinking disregard to the laws of physics.

Harry seems to try to smile, but his eyes are distant with memory, and that haunted –hunted - look, like Harry expected to see people, or the ghosts of those people, that just weren't _there_ in the corner of his eyes. It was strange, that Dom hated that look, now, when it had been one of the first things that had drawn him to Harry in the first place.

"There isn't any need; I have a godson, my Heir." It was the same claim that Sirius Black had offered, and Harry hadn't known enough about the world he was growing up in to know what that meant. Those words meant about the same to Dom as they had to Harry then.

"What's his name?" Dom asks, earnestly curious after having overhearing part of the phone call to 'Dromeda. Harry had known he'd heard part of it, and had kept his side as normal sounding as he could – a rich runaway calling in his due wealth. Or perhaps something of that like.

"Teddy Lupin, he was a baby when I left, old enough to talk and walk now." There is a helpless sort of regret in Harry's voice, and Dom knows that Harry won't run away anymore, come what may. Dom almost wishes, thought he doesn't know why, that he _hadn't_ heard such determination in Harry.

Harry will face what comes now, where he wouldn't before, his past, which he had warned Dom would come hunting him; the past which Harry fled from, that Dom wouldn't turn him away for.

"What was your dream about?" Dom doesn't know why the words slipped out now, when he had determined not to speak of it. Harry watches him for a long moment in the mirror, as if he can't turn and face Dom.

"Memories, for the most part." Dom doesn't have anything to say to that, so he leaves Harry there in the bathroom, as the word's fade from his ears – they ring in his memory like bells.

It was one answer to the riddle of Harry Potter; his memories were bad enough to be the sort of nightmares that would make most dread _waking_. Dom had to wonder what kept him going, if it was only the urge to flee, for Harry certainly had much within his own mind to run from; yet the irony in that was that was what Dom know the truth of well.

_You can't outrun yourself_, Dom thinks, and goes to the kitchen, where an owl sits on the table – the window left open day and night in hopes of tempting in a breeze.

"_Don't worry; Blodwedd doesn't take well to anyone at the first meeting_." Harry's words come back to haunt him, as does his remembered uncaring shrug.

Blodwedd glares, suspicious and distrusting.

Apparently he _should_ care, rather a lot.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Note_; I am sulking, artists are in hiding. I stalk them now, yes? I is kidding. No stalk artists, they are jumpy and startle quickly; must use chocolate and honey.

….

–_lures_-

PS – I've now seen "_Fast and Furious"; _it's the movies between I'm now unsure about having watched or not.


End file.
